


Just a Bad Dream

by Rintin10



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean's weird kinda toxic masculinity thing he has, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Episode Fix-it, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fix-It, He's working on it though, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, No beta: we die like men, Other Characters Briefly Mentioned - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, Undoing all of Andrew Dabb's work with a 'it was all a dream' trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rintin10/pseuds/Rintin10
Summary: Dean feels disjointed, like his entire being has been thrown off kilter. His mind races desperately to try and make sense of these intense sensations coursing through him, making him feel over-sensitized. One of the consequences of Heaven, if you could call it that, is the constant state of numb contentment. So the sudden burst of, well, anything else, is completely jarring.---Or Dean wakes up from a nasty dream. Spoiler Alert: The dream was s15e20.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	Just a Bad Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: though it's never officially named or addressed, Dean experiences a panic attack at the beginning of this fic.

Dean awakes in a sudden jolt. His chest feels tight, like it’s being crushed under a tremendous weight. He reflexively sucks in a deep breath, but it provides no real relief. Blood rushes in his ears, accompanied by a rapid beating in his chest. It’s an odd sensation to feel, especially considering that he’s, well, _dead_ and has been for, what was it, _decades_? Dean isn’t so sure anymore. Time was such a weirdly complex concept in Heaven that he struggled to understand even when his brain was working at full capacity. Right now, it feels like it's buried beneath at least fifty different layers of fog, unwilling to register anything past the sharp ache in his chest and the buzzing inside his ears.

Dean feels disjointed, like his entire being has been thrown off kilter. His mind races desperately to try and make sense of these intense sensations coursing through him, making him feel over-sensitized. One of the consequences of Heaven, if you could call it that, is the constant state of numb contentment. So the sudden burst of, well, anything else, is completely jarring.

Dimly, he registers a soft sound from beside him, and the sensation of movement, but all he can seem to pay attention to is the burning in his chest.

“Dean…?”

The voice is coarse, coarser than it should be, like it's been roused from a deep, deep sleep, which is ridiculous because angel’s don't need sleep-

“Dean.” The voice is firmer now, a little bit more like he remembers it. Dean finds himself squeezing his eyes shut to relish in the sound of it. It’s good to hear it again, he had almost lost hope he wouldn’t be able to. He hasn’t heard it since _that night_ , and even then it wasn’t him, just a cruel trick from Lucifer-

“Dean,” the voice is closer now, almost like it's right beside his ear. There’s a slight edge to the tone now, like it’s laced with concern, which is all kinds of awful. The last thing he ever wants is that voice to sound distressed-

“Dean, _breath_.”

Which, honestly, is such a ridiculous fucking request when he thinks about it. He’s fucking _dead_. You don’t even need to breath in Heaven, but then again... you don’t typically feel like your suffocating either-

It’s the press of a warm hand on the small of his back that finally snaps Dean’s eyes open. His eyes quickly adjust to the soft light flooding the room, emitting from the bedside lamp that has been switched on. He casts his eyes across his surroundings quickly, taking in the sight before him, when suddenly everything comes flooding back to him.

He’s in his room, back in the bunker. The door is cracked open slightly, and a quick glance tells him that Miracle isn’t in the room. It’s not exactly alarming, as the dog tends to bounce between his and Sammy’s rooms during the night, not particularly fond of staying put for long periods of time. The bunker itself is quiet, and Dean can hazard a guess that it’s still pretty late in the night or early morning. The only sounds piercing the heavy silence are Dean’s sharp breaths and Cas’s soft murmurs as he tries to coax them back to a normal rhythm.

_Cas_. Cas, who was very much alive and has been for _weeks_ now. Who has been ever since Dean, Sam and Jack worked together to, quite literally, tear him out of the Empty; the only expense being his grace. Cas, who hasn’t once seemed bothered by his now permanent mortality. Who had followed Dean into bed just a few hours ago, something he has done every night since he returned; since Dean had refused to let him go that night, even for a second, afraid that he’d disappear again if he did.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate. He abruptly jerks himself around and climbs into Cas’ lap, wrapping his arms around the ex-angel tightly, too tired to even bother with the mask of emotional distance he’s usually known for. Cas, to his credit, doesn’t react besides a small grunt as he adjusts for Dean’s sudden weight, before returning the tight embrace.

Dean buries his nose into the crook of Cas’s neck, and sucks in a shuddery breath. The sharp smell of detergent that lingers on Cas’s night shirt tickles his nose, but combined with Cas’s natural musk, it has an oddly calming effect on his erratic heart. Dean takes in another deep breath to ground himself back into reality, and rid himself from any traces of the awful dream he just woke from. And god was it horrible. If he wasn’t so consumed in the sudden euphoria of being alive ; being _with Cas_ , he’d almost laugh at the ridiculousness of being done in by a fucking thumbtack of all things.

As Cas’s fingers begin to press soothing patterns into his back, Dean feels his body begin to melt, ridding itself of any lingering tensions left in his muscles. Dean turns his head so he can drag his lips to the base of Cas’s neck, pursing them slightly with a soft kiss.

Cas lets out a small hum, tilting his head to better accommodate Dean’s lips.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean hears Cas ask as he trails his lips higher on his neck.

Dean’s already pushing it in the chick-flick department when he climbed into Cas’s lap, so there’s no way he’s going to sit there and cry about a scary dream like a fucking toddler, so he lets his mouth open to lap at Cas’s pulse point instead of answering. Cas seems unsurprised by this development; a perk of knowing Dean for as long as he has, and seems to be content that whatever had caused Dean’s distress has passed for the time being.

Dean cannot help the grateful twitch of his lips when Cas obviously does not push any further. While both of them have definitely made strides in their communication efforts since the beginning of their relationship (and _god_ , is that a fucking ridiculous sentiment in itself) they are still the two stubborn pieces of shits that spent over a decade refusing to confront their feelings in any capacity. So yeah, Cas and him have an understanding when it comes to the more mushy crap; namely they don’t really bring it up all too much unless forced to.

Instead, Cas shifts slightly to reach over for the lamp on his side of the bed, pulling on the chain to turn it off before settling back down against the pillows and dragging Dean down with him. Dean goes willingly, settling against Cas’s chest, and taking comfort as his arms once again wrap around him tightly.

It should probably be more of a blow to his manhood to be manhandled so easily, but it isn't. Although he would never admit it, he finds enjoyment in being held like this. It makes him feel safe and protected, especially with his head against Cas’s chest, being lulled to sleep by the present thrum of Cas’s heartbeat; irrefutable proof that he’s here and not going anywhere. As Cas’s hands start to thread their way through his hair, dragging his blunt fingernails with _just the right amount of pressure_ , Dean finds himself beginning to drift off.

The dream is all but forgotten by morning.


End file.
